


Future Perfect

by schweet_heart



Series: The Prince's Book of Hours [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Resurrection, remix eligible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 04:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2335772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the little things that make all the difference. Inspired by <a href="http://labeteglatissante.tumblr.com/post/80453518511/shutupmerlin-i-want-a-fic-where-modern-merlin">this</a> tumblr post.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Future Perfect

 

Merlin forgets, sometimes.

Part of that is Arthur's fault — he’s always been chameleonic in that way, able to adapt and process quickly in a new environment. Once, lifetimes ago, he’d told Merlin smugly that it was a skill all good warriors had to cultivate, because you never knew what a battle was going to throw at you; versatility was simply the only way to stay alive. Merlin remembers thinking that if that was the only criterion for survival, Arthur might very well prove immortal, although he tries not to reflect on the irony of that statement now.

There are little things, though, which give him away. Sometimes they’re funny things, such as the time when Merlin had begun vacuuming the flat one morning not long after the king had returned, only to have Arthur come bursting out of the bedroom in his pyjama pants, brandishing a cricket bat and ready to attack whatever it was making “that god-awful wailing noise” in the living room. He had almost flattened the poor vacuum cleaner before Merlin could explain that, actually, it wasn’t some kind of strange magical beast intent on devouring them both but a harmless household appliance which, by the way, Arthur should possibly learn how to use at some point in the future, hint hint. Arthur still glares at it darkly sometimes when he thinks Merlin isn’t looking.

But then there are other things, too, things which make Merlin’s breath catch, because they force him to realise that this is actually happening; that Arthur really is back from the dead. Things like the day that Merlin comes back from grocery shopping to find Arthur sitting on the sink in the kitchen, turning the tap on and off with a look of intense concentration on his face. 

The king doesn’t hear him enter, so Merlin puts down the bags very carefully and quietly, and just watches for a moment as Arthur inspects the tap, turning it off and staring up the spout for a while before turning it back on again, then waiting as if wondering how long it will keep running before it stops of its own accord.

“It’s not going to run out, you know,” Merlin says at last, and Arthur jumps, turning off the faucet and spinning to face him with such speed he almost falls off the counter. “There’s whole reservoirs of it now, not just a well. Although you might run up a bit of a bill.”

Arthur glares at him, apparently unable to decide whether to be embarrassed or annoyed at having been interrupted during his investigation. Finally, he settles for curious.

“How does it work?” he asks. “Is it magic?”

“No,” Merlin says, trying not to smile. “It’s just…pipes, and stuff. It’s called plumbing.”

“ _Plumming_.” Arthur makes a face, as if the word tastes strange in his mouth. “Are there plums involved?”

“Not that I know of.” And now Merlin does grin, unable to help himself. Arthur looks like an overgrown kid, water droplets splashed up the front of his t-shirt and clinging to his hair, his nose scrunched up like a toddler at bath-time. “It has something to do with water pressure and pumps. I don’t really know much about it.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Arthur scowls at him. “You really are rubbish at this, Merlin.”

“Yeah, yeah. One of these days, I'll teach you how to use the internet, and then you can look up the answers for yourself. Okay?”

“Fine.” Arthur heaves a sigh, and leaps lightly down from the counter to crouch by the bags Merlin had left by the door. He begins pawing through them, examining the items one by one before dropping them back to the floor in disgust. “Are you sure these are all edible?”

“They’re fine,” Merlin says. “Plastic, remember. Keeps things fresh.”

Arthur nods, as if he understands; they have been over this before, but Merlin suspects Arthur still doesn’t quite like the idea of eating weeks-old food that hasn’t been smoked or dried in some fashion, although he had been quite enthusiastic about the concept of refrigeration when Merlin first explained it to him. 

“I got you a present,” Merlin adds, trying to distract him. He’s had a long day, and he’s not up to playing another round of twenty questions just at the moment. “It’s in the second bag from the right — no, the other one. Open it.”

Arthur does as he’s told, a pleased expression on his face, which fades a little as he unfolds the parcel of material into its rightful shape.

“What kind of garment do you call this?”

“It’s a hoodie,” Merlin says. “I got red, I know it’s your favourite. You should try it on.”

Arthur eyes the jersey the way he once had the peasant garb Merlin had dressed him in, although Merlin can tell he’s making a good faith effort not to let his wariness show on his face. 

“I told you before,  _Mer_ lin,” he says. “I don’t approve of this century’s manner of dress — if one can even call it that. Why can’t I just wear what I always wear?”

“Because,” Merlin says, taking the hoodie from his unresisting fingers. “Nobody goes around wearing armour anymore, and your tunic would just look weird. Arms up.”

“Maybe I like looking weird,” Arthur grumbles, but he lifts his arms almost absently at Merlin’s direction. Merlin pulls the hoodie on over his head, and Arthur yelps, apparently only just realising his intentions. “ _Merlin!_ Get this thing off me!”

“What was that, sire? Sorry, you’re a little muffled under there,” Merlin snickers, as he yanks the hoodie down further. Arthur’s arms get half stuck in the sleeves and his face is entirely covered by cloth, and when it finally settles into place his hair is sticking out in all directions and he’s pouting in a manner that really shouldn’t be so endearing on someone of his age and pedigree. Merlin wants to say  _stop sulking_ and  _it looks good on you_ , but something about Arthur’s face makes him think of donkey ears and spoons and pranks played over a thousand years ago. He swallows hard and looks away.

“I suppose it’s not so bad,” Arthur says, after a moment. When Merlin glances back at him, he’s holding the bottom of the hoodie gingerly away from his body, running it through his fingers. “It’s soft.”

“It’s — uh, it’s made out of cotton,” Merlin offers, clearing his throat. “And, um, probably polyester, actually. It’s synthetic.”

Arthur shoots him a look that so obviously means  _you’re babbling again_  that Merlin cracks a watery smile. 

“I’ll explain after dinner,” he says, smoothing down Arthur’s hair and — unable to resist — using the moment to tug his head back and kiss him, softly, on the lips. “You want curry again?”

Arthur’s answering smile lights up his entire face.

“Sounds perfect,” he says, scrambling to his feet and darting out of the door before Merlin can put him to work. “Bags not doing the washing up!”

“Like you ever would,” Merlin calls after him, but Arthur’s already out of earshot, and Merlin just sighs. Sometimes it’s hard to remember they ever left Camelot, really. Except that somehow he never quite forgets.


End file.
